Light Enough for What I Have to Do
by pinkalarmclock
Summary: Life grinds to a halt, as if the world has always revolved around Tony. In some ways, it always has.


**Title:** Light Enough for What I Have to Do  
**Author:** pinkalarmclock  
**Rating:** G  
**Spoilers:** Takes place after 1x09 so spoilers for the obvious cliffhanger  
**Summary:** Life grinds to a halt, as if the world has always revolved around Tony. In some ways, it always has.

**Disclaimer:** Somewhat obviously, I do not own Skins  
**Author's note:** This is my first Skins fic, written before I saw Series 2. Positive criticism please? Betaed for me by amory vain – thank you!

The first few weeks are complete hell. Life grinds to a halt, as if the world has always revolved around Tony. Which in some ways, it always has. Late nights of partying are replaced by late nights of sitting around a hospital bed. It seems wrong to smile - why should you find anything funny when he's lying there like that? It still seems unreal.

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_He might not wake up, you know?_

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Their numbers start to drop off at the end of the first month. It takes that long to sink in that, no, Tony's not just playing another one of his games. He's not going to suddenly open his eyes and break into a smirk. To see him in the hospital bed, dwarfed by machines and tubes, just hurts too much.

Sid stays by his side. Maybe, if- when Tony wakes up, he'll be grateful.

-------

_Is it really going to happen?_-------

Maxxie throws himself into dancing. He tries to focus on each step so precisely he can forget, just for a second. Jal finds a new piece everyday and forces herself to learn it by heart by six o'clock each evening. The obsessive playing leaves her almost no space for thought.

It doesn't work for either of them.

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The group seems to be drifting apart. It's always been Sid-and-Michelle-and-Jal-and-Cassie-and-Anwar-and-Chris-and-Maxxie who are "Tony's Group". It seems pointless without a Tony. Of course, Cass has gone anyway; Sid is never away from Tony's side (but is that not normal?), Michelle is with him half the time, and the rest just sort of float. It's not like they'd be able to have fun together anyway: the ghost of Tony hovers there constantly.

It's almost unfair that it's him. He's so…_Tony_, that it's bloody stupid that it isn't Chris (what does he have to offer the world, except pills and great parties?) or Sid ("fucking useless") or anyone else but _Tony_. It would be the same whoever it was, probably, but it's hard to shake off the feeling that it should be Jal lying in the bed.

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"_I won't do pills"_

"_I won't get pissed off at him again"_

_"I'll always hand in my homework on time" _-------

Michelle tries to planher outfit; Sid tries to write a eulogy. He won't wake up. But the harder they try to convince themselves of what's staring them in the face, the more ridiculous it gets. Of course he will. He's fucking _Tony_, and he doesn't quit.

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School starts again – welcome for the first time ever. What with the piles of coursework and essays and revision, it's easy to say you don't have time for hospital visits or seeing friends. Conversation at the lunch table is awkward. Maxxie will start a story of last night's jazz class where a boy's shorts split and Anwar will laugh, until hecatches the empty seat out of the corner of his eye and remembers.

Eventually, someone plucks up the courage to talk about him. And somehow, this makes it easier, not so disloyal. Chris admits he misses Tony's "fucking annoying" way of getting all the girls at parties: Michelle breathes in sharply, but doesn't say anything. Now is not the time for remembering the bad things.

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Inevitably, life goes on. There's Christmas to think about, secret parties to plan. Tony's still there, but it's only a matter of time, and they know it now. Things have changed. Occasionally, Michelle will start crying at night and feel she's abandoned him, but it becomes less frequent as time goes on. It's as if he's already dead.

They've started getting on ok without him now.

-------

And then, he wakes up.


End file.
